Man's Best Friend
by TelWoman
Summary: Agent Z takes his dog for a walk ... and is unexpectedly called in to work.


He was walking his dog in the Kottenforst when the phonecall came.

Z picked up the slobber-wet ball at his feet, and threw it hard. His dog, forty kilograms of tight-packed bone and muscle encased in a sleek black and tan coat, dashed off across the grassy clearing in hot pursuit. Z reached into his pocket, and pulled out his mobile phone.

"Yes, hello?"

The response that came sounded almost robotic – a voice deliberately devoid of personality, the inflexion suggesting the speaker was reading from a card. "Code Yellow. Repeat: Code Yellow. Your contact is von dem Eberbach." An address followed, repeated twice. Then, the line went dead.

Code yellow. That meant, drop whatever you're doing, go to the address given as fast as you can get there, and meet your contact: there's an emergency to be dealt with.

Z pocketed his phone, and felt under his jacket for the familiar solidity of his hand gun in its concealed holster. The gun was as much a part of him as his own limbs. Once, he would have felt strange going out to walk his dog with a concealed weapon under his coat. He'd got used to it.

On the other side of the clearing, his dog plunged about in the grass, seizing the ball in his jaws, then dropping it for the fun of picking it up again. Z whistled. The dog stopped bouncing back and forth, and turned toward his master, ears pricked, cropped tail quivering.

"Klaus! Klaus, come here, boy!"

The dog surged into motion, tearing through the long grass toward Z, proud that he'd caught the ball, happy that his master was calling him.

As soon as the Doberman was within reach, Z clipped a leash onto his collar and took the ball out of his mouth. The dog looked a little disappointed: the leash going back on meant "playtime over".

"Come on, boy. We have to go to meet some people."

Z loaded his dog into the back of the car. The Doberman lay down obediently, settling his sharp tan muzzle on his paws.

The address he'd been given wasn't far away – perhaps half an hour if the road was clear. There was no time for Z to go back to his apartment; he'd have to take the dog with him.

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The traffic was flowing well. Z arrived at the rendezvous point within twenty minutes. He checked his gun, and got out of the car.

On the back seat, the Doberman bounded to his feet, looking alert. "Lie down, boy," Z said – then hesitated. Something in the dog's expression told Z that he was aware his master wasn't getting ready to play again: that he had sensed something serious was happening, and that his master might be in need of protection. The dog was well trained; perhaps he could be useful.

Z opened the back door. "Come on, boy, come out."

The dog jumped down and stood still, obedient and alert. Z clipped the leash on, and headed for the rendezvous point with the Doberman trotting silently at his side.

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Major von dem Eberbach was already there, with Agents B and G.

The Major's hard green gaze locked onto the Doberman.

"What the hell is that?" he demanded loudly, as soon as Z was within earshot.

"Er – my dog, sir."

"I can see that, you idiot. Why have you brought it with you?"

"I was walking him in the Kottenforst when the call came through. There was no time to take him back to my apartment, sir."

"Humph. All right. Just keep it under control. This is a Code Yellow. We've had a tip-off that there's a KGB agent hiding out in an abandoned factory at the end of the street. Agent A has gone to reconnoitre; as soon as he's back, we'll move off."

The Major paced back and forth, waiting impatiently.

Agent B leaned against the wall, staring into space.

The Doberman sat by his master, quiet and calm, waiting.

"He's a beautiful dog," G said, coming up to stand next to Z. "Can I pat him?"

"Sure. Just let him sniff your hand first."

G extended a carefully-manicured hand. The Doberman sniffed, wrinkling his nose at G's strongly-perfumed hand lotion.

"What's his name?"

"Klaus."

The natural colour drained from Agent G's cheeks, leaving two bright-pink patches of blusher standing out starkly on his pallid skin. "_Klaus_? You named your dog after the Major? Have you got a death-wish?"

Z shrugged awkwardly. "It was kind of a joke, just for myself. It seemed to suit him. I mean, look at him: he's big and fierce-looking, and he barks really loudly. He's not vicious, though – underneath, he's really sweet and affectionate." He tickled the dog under the chin. Klaus panted happily, tongue lolling.

_Sweet and affectionate_? Did Z think the Major was 'sweet and affectionate'? G's brow creased with worry.

"Z, if the Major finds out you named your dog after him, he'll kill you. Or he'll send you to Alaska, which is almost as bad."

"He won't find out. I'll tell him the dog's called Benno. That's a good name for a dog."

G looked doubtful. "I suppose so. Just be careful. The Major won't like it if he finds out."

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A minute or two later, Agent A arrived back at the rendezvous point, with nothing to report.

"As I thought," the Major said. "The enemy agent is most likely to be hiding inside the building, staying out of sight during daylight hours. Let's go and take a closer look."

The group moved off in the direction of the abandoned factory, Z bringing up the rear with his dog trotting at his heels.

The Major turned, frowning. "Herr Z, do you have to bring that bloody dog with you? Can't you leave it behind?"

"I can't leave him behind, sir. He'd try to follow me. This way, I can at least keep him under control, sir."

"Humph. I suppose so," the Major grumbled. Z did have a point.

Silently, the Doberman looked from Z to the tall man with the loud voice. The tall man shouted a lot and spoke sternly, but the dog could sense that he was not hostile to his master and posed no threat. This man must be the pack leader. The Doberman decided all was well.

The Major appraised the dog with a look that would have intimidated any human subjected to it.

"At least it's a decent German dog, not one of those foppish foreign breeds. Does the thing have a name?"

"His name's Benno, sir."

Behind him, Z heard G swallow audibly.

"I suppose you've trained it."

"Of course, sir. He's very obedient."

"Well, just see that you do keep it under control. I don't want any fuck-ups because of this. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

They moved off toward the factory.

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Creeping along the outside of a crumbling wall on the factory perimeter, the agents fanned out in different directions to scan the building and the yard. The building, a grim grey edifice, had not been used for years. Most of the windows were broken. Two doors were missing, and a third sagged on one hinge. The factory yard was dotted with piles of rubbish: broken packing cases, coils of rusting wire, a heap of bottles and jars. Beyond the back wall of the factory yard, the ground dropped away, sloping down to the edge of a drainage channel.

Z took out his gun. He couldn't hold both the gun and the dog's lead, so he unclipped the leash from the Doberman's collar and stuffed it into his pocket. "Good boy, Klaus," he murmured. "Come with me, now. Heel, boy." He edged cautiously along his section of the wall, gun in hand, dog following silently behind.

There was no sign from the outside that anyone was in the building, or that anyone had been there recently. Still, that meant very little if they were dealing with a professional agent. Only fools and amateurs left visible signs, as the Major often reminded them.

The agents regrouped to consider their next move.

"Agent A – go inside and take a look around the top floor," the Major ordered. "Take Agent G with you. B – you come with me. We'll sweep the ground floor. Z – you have a look at that outbuilding over there, and be alert in case—"

The Major paused, looking past his men. "Agent Z, is that your bloody dog down there?"

They all looked around, to see the Doberman nosing about on the edge of the drain, a hundred metres distant.

"Z, I thought I told you to keep that bloody dog of yours under control. Don't let it wander off like that. Go on, call it back and put it on a leash."

Z got out the leash and edged along the wall toward his dog, keeping low to remain concealed. About half way along, he stopped and whistled softly.

The dog stood still, ears pricked, looking eager. Would his master come and play a game with him? He hadn't had any fun for hours. Perhaps his master would throw a stick, or run with him along the grassy slope beside the drain? The dog trembled eagerly, his tail wagging.

_Oh, hell._

Z had trained the dog to stand and pay attention when he whistled, and come when his name was called. He whistled again. The dog jumped back and forth a couple of times, and stood still again, waiting for further instructions.

"Benno!" Z called, aware that the Major was not far away. "Benno!"

Z knew it wouldn't work.

It didn't.

He tried again. "Benno! Here, boy!"

The dog stayed where he was.

The Major came up to crouch beside Z, glaring at the still-distant dog. "I thought you said you'd trained it. Doesn't it come when it's called?"

"Er— he does, sir, usually. I guess he's just – er, a bit disoriented."

"Disoriented?" snorted the Major. "Go and fetch the bloody thing. We have to get going."

Z crept along to the end of the factory wall and down the slope to the drain, where Klaus was still standing, obedient and well-trained, waiting for his master's next command.

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"Stay!" Z ordered. "Good boy."

The dog lay down obediently outside the factory wall. His master wanted him to lie down and wait, and he liked to please his master. He would rather have been exploring, or better still, running after a ball or a stick – but he was a well-trained dog, so he did as he was told.

Z climbed through a break in the wall. He could see the other four agents entering the factory building. He moved carefully toward the outbuilding, gun at the ready, alert for anything out of the ordinary.

A shot rang out behind him.

Z flung himself behind a stack of packing cases.

Another shot followed – and another.

Pressing close to the ground, Z eased out from behind his shelter and returned fire.

The packing cases were useless: they provided no real protection. Could he make it across the gap to get behind the outbuilding? Crouching down behind his flimsy wooden barrier, Z strained to see where the gunman was.

Another shot rang out.

The gunman had shifted. Z edged back around the pile of packing cases, trying to get the man in his sights, mentally measuring how far it was to the brick-walled outbuilding behind him.

Taking a deep breath, Z sprang to his feet and sprinted toward the outbuilding across the uneven ground littered with wire and debris. His foot caught in a coil of rusty wire; he tripped, falling awkwardly, dropping his gun. He struggled to his knees – and froze.

The gunman stood just five metres away, pistol aimed squarely at him.

Disturbed by the gunfire, the Doberman had come looking for his master. There he was! On the ground, clearly being threatened by the other man! The dog barked – once; twice. The threatening man didn't move, didn't shift his attention off his master. With an angry snarl, the Doberman leapt into motion.

At the periphery of his vision, Z saw his dog tearing across the factory yard, teeth bared and righteous fury in his eyes.

"Klaus!" Z yelled, "Klaus! Good boy!"

The Doberman launched himself at the gunman, knocking him off his feet. The gun flew from the man's grasp. Z lurched to pick it up. The now gunless man was yelling, his rage and fear half drowned out by the snarls and guttural barks of Z's dog.

The Major raced across the yard, Agent B three paces behind.

"Call off your dog! Call off your dog!" the man screeched, as the Doberman savaged his leg, ripping into clothing and skin with fierce enthusiasm.

The Major jogged to a halt, and levelled his magnum at the man. "Lie still, you slimy thug!"

Agent B produced a pair of handcuffs from his pocket.

The dog, sensing that the rest of the pack was joining in, stopped chewing on the man's shinbone and backed off.

"Good boy, Klaus!" Z called.

The Major turned his head sharply. "What did you say? You insolent—" he began, but the moment he saw Z patting his dog, he knew.

Leaving the prisoner to Agent B, the Major stalked across to Z.

The Doberman had turned from a ferocious hell-hound into an oversize puppy, happily licking Z's hands and wagging his abbreviated tail, delighted that his master was now out of danger.

"Agent Z," the Major said, coldly. "What did you say your dog's name is?"

Z looked up. He swallowed.

"Well, Z?"

"Er— His name's Klaus, sir."

Z felt as though the Major's green eyes were drilling a hole in his skull. He braced himself for the tirade. At his feet, the Doberman stopped licking and wagging, aware that his master's pack leader was displeased, and dropped submissively to the ground.

The Major glowered at Z for a few moments more, then turned without a word and went back to help B with the prisoner.

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G had been right: the Major was not pleased to learn that the dog was called Klaus.

While A and B bundled the prisoner into one of the cars, the Major made it plain what he thought of insubordinate smart-arses who believed it was funny to name their dogs after their superior officers.

"You'd better think about whether you want to buy a Husky when you get to Alaska, Herr Z."

With that parting shot, the Major strode off to join A and B, who were waiting to transport the prisoner back to Headquarters.

Z and G watched as the car drove away.

"Come on, Z. We have to get back for debriefing. We'd better not be late. Let's go in your car."

Z didn't answer. He felt too gloomy. They'd caught the enemy agent, and – thanks to the Doberman – he himself had escaped harm. The operation had been a success – hadn't it? He shivered slightly, thinking of Alaska.

Klaus had no idea why his master seemed so despondent. He pushed his cold, wet nose against Z's hand. Usually, when he did that, his master would pat him and rub his ears. Z simply moved his hand away, absent-mindedly rubbing the moisture from Klaus's nose off on his trouser leg.

Klaus shuffled closer and shoved his nose against the side of Z's knee.

"Lie down, boy."

The dog lay down obediently, huffing loudly through his nostrils.

Agent G burst into giggles. "Listen to that! He even sounds like the Major!"

Z sighed unhappily.

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Z's car pulled out into the traffic, with Agent G at the wheel, sketching out plans as he drove.

"We'll drop your dog off at my apartment on the way. It's only a small detour and it won't take long. We'll put him in the courtyard behind the apartment with my dog."

"I didn't know you had a dog, G."

"I've had him for about three years. He's good company."

When they got to G's apartment, they parked in the street at the side of the building. G unlocked the gate, with Z beside him keeping a careful hold on Klaus's collar.

They walked through into the courtyard. "Where are you, darling?" G trilled. "Come out and meet your new friend!"

Z looked around, expecting to see a carefully-clipped poodle, or a fluffy lap-dog. Instead, the dog that emerged from the kennel was a lean, long-legged Afghan hound with a pale silky coat and a haughty bearing.

Z's Doberman quivered with excitement – or anticipation – or fear.

The Afghan hound extended his elegant nose toward Klaus and sniffed delicately.

"Come on, Z, we have to get a move on. The Major'll be furious if we're late." G bustled back to the gate, urging Z along with him. "Don't worry about the dogs; they'll be all right together."

One last look before the gate closed showed Z that Klaus was still rooted to the spot, wide-eyed and uncertain, while the Afghan's sniffing had become bolder. Much bolder.

G slipped into the driver's seat. "Come on, Z – we have to hurry. The dogs'll be fine."

Z got into the car. "Your dog's very handsome, G. What do you call him?"

G blushed, looking a little embarrassed.

"Dorian."


End file.
